


Mercurial

by fredbassett



Series: Taking the Rough with the Smooth [1]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: When George Ford has a problem, help comes from an unexpected quarter.
Relationships: Danny Cipriani/George Ford
Series: Taking the Rough with the Smooth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863124
Comments: 26
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With huge thanks to my beta and rugby guru, the very wonderful luka!

_Burgess is a cunt. Take no fucking notice, mate._

George stared at the message on his phone, wondering why the hell Danny Cipriani had bothered to text him. It wasn’t as if they were friends.

He shoved the phone in his pocket and went back to pacing around the house, straightening the cushions, tidying the already tidy kitchen, picking imaginary specks of dirt off the carpet and trying not to kick the walls. The only thing that stopped him from delivering a few well-placed slams was the fact that he knew he’d then end up driving to B&Q to get some white paint to fix the fucking marks. That and the fact that he didn’t wear shoes in the house, so he’d only end up breaking a toe as well.

His phone buzzed. Jonny. Again.

 _Stop avoiding me Fordy you little shit or I’ll come over and rearrange every bloody cushion youve got_

George couldn’t decide whether to smile or cringe. Jonny was quite capable of carrying out that threat, then he’d stay for a week and every cushion would end up on the floor and his kitchen would look like a horde of hyperactive elephants had held a party. A really noisy, messy party, with a lot of fruit. And beer. Way too much beer.

He texted back: _I’m fine_ then added honestly.

_Bollox_

His phone rang. 

Jonny. 

“I said I’m OK.”

“And I said you’re talking bollocks. You’ll have the fucking press camped on your doorstep if you don’t do a runner. Come down here. Soph says it’s fine.”

“Jonny…”

“Fordy, for fuck’s sake, chuck some stuff in a bag and come down.” 

George had never just chucked stuff in a bag in his life. He liked his stuff to be neat. “Got a text from Cips earlier.”

“He’s not as bad as you think. He knows what it’s like to be splashed all over the fucking tabloids.”

“Brings it on ‘is bloody self.”

“Stop judging. And stop changing the bloody subject. Are you coming down here or am I coming up to you? And you know if I get bloody lost, you’ll have to come and find me.”

George bit back a sigh. He knew superior force when it was grinning at him down the phone. He also knew Jonny was perfectly capable of getting lost on a completely straight road.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

“Text me when you’re setting off.”

“Yes, mum.”

**** 

_Leaving now_

_Wot the F you been doing? Wallpapering the bloody place first?!_

_Packing_

And tidying. And turning the water off. And straightening the cushions. Then he’d needed to make sure he’d put the handheld vacuum cleaner back in the car, and … Eventually he’d run out of things to do.

_Taking scenic route not mway_

George stuck Jonny’s address in the satnav and told it to avoid motorways, opting for a route down through Stratford and Evesham that would get him to Jonny’s place in about two hours. The roads were reasonably quiet, and he enjoyed driving, but just south of Leamington Spa he made the mistake of turning the radio on:

"Leicester Tigers head coach Geordan Murphy yesterday labelled ex-England international Sam Burgess’ criticism of England’s star fly half George Ford and his father, former Bath coach Mike Ford, strange and confusing after Burgess criticised Mike Ford for using him as a political pawn during the disastrous 2015 rugby World Cup campaign. Burgess went on to claim that his relationship with George Ford quickly fell apart after the game in which he described Ford’s presence on the field as unnecessary…"

George hammered his finger at the off button and damn nearly jumped a red light. He spent the rest of the journey trying to breathe through the hard knot that had lodged under his sternum. Just north of Evesham he had to pull into a layby to throw up the single slice of toast he’d eaten for breakfast, heaving until he had nothing more than sour yellow slime to bring up. A couple of mints from a tin in the glove compartment dealt with the aftertaste but not the burning feeling of shame. He just hoped he hadn’t been recognised. The fucking tabloids would pay a mint for a shot of him barfing into a hedge.

To his relief, the rest of the journey was uneventful.

“You look like shit,” Jonny said, heaving George’s kitbag out of the boot.

“Good to see you, too, mate,” he muttered.

A large black and tan dog bounded out of the front door, wagging its tail and slobbering everywhere.

“Nala, down, you little horror!” Sophie May enveloped George in a warm hug. “Don’t let her slobber all over you. Only I’m allowed to do that.”

“Sorry if she smells,” Jonny said. “We were just about to get her in the bath. She rolled in fox poo earlier.”

George blinked in confusion.

“He means the dog, not me. Do you want to freshen up in the shower first or go straight to a drink?”

“He can have a drink in the shower if he wants!” Jonny called, busy lugging George’s bag into the house. “I shoved some of that low cal muck he likes in the fridge! Tastes like watered down gnat’s piss, mind.”

Sophie smiled and dispensed another hug. “That can be arranged. Cold watered down gnat’s piss coming up. We’re sorry about all the crap, George. No one believes it. Burgess is just jealous.”

The trouble was a lot of people did believe it, and that’s what made him feel so sick. There was nothing he could fucking do, either, as getting into a public slanging match would only make things worse, but ‘no comment’ just sounded lame, even to him.

“A shower would be good, thanks.” That way he could put off having to make polite conversation for a while longer. “I’ll have the gnat’s piss afterwards, if that’s all right.”

He spent ten minutes with the shower as hot as he could stand it, then gradually turned the water temperature down until he was almost shivering. The contrast helped to clear his head.

An hour later, he was downstairs, settled in the corner of an enormous white leather sofa and doing his best to fend off 40 kilos of citrus-smelling Rottweiler.

“Drink coming up!” Sophie called from the large kitchen at the rear of their newly-rented house. A moment later, George heard her hiss to her husband in an outraged undertone, “You’ve done what? Ring him back! Tell him there’s not enough food or something.”

“Can’t, he’ll be on his way,” Jonny said cheerfully, not making any attempt to keep his voice down. “Fordy won’t mind.”

“He’ll bloody kill you, you idiot!”

A moment later, Jonny swanned in, handed over a cold bottle then said, “You won’t kill me, will you?”

“Depends what you’ve done.”

“Invited Cips round for a barbie tonight…”

“Could have been worse,” George said, making an effort to keep his voice steady. “Could have asked him round for one of your arse-rattling curries.”

“Would I do that to you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not that bad, honest.”

“So you said. Is he bringing the girl with the scary boobs?”

“No, think they’ve split up.”

“Already?”

“Said they were better as friends.”

For the next hour, Jonny chuntered away happily making as little sense as usual and George just let him get on with it. The dog sprawled out on the sofa next to him and slobbered happily on his lap, behaving pretty much like her owner when he’d had too much booze.

The sound of a car pulling up in the drive set up an uncomfortable flutter in George’s stomach. He really didn’t like Danny Cipriani. The guy was just too fucking unpredictable, lurching from one tabloid splash to the next. It was obvious he thought George was boring, joking that he never talked about anything other than rugby – which was true – but it didn’t mean George enjoyed the teasing. He had respect for the guy’s outspoken stance on his own mental health problems but that was about all. 

Nala scrambled off the sofa, hurling herself at Danny, who staggered backwards with an armful of wriggling dog. When he finally managed to get her to calm down, he limped into the living room and nodded awkwardly to George. 

“Fordy. Glad you could make it down. Jonny didn’t think you’d come.”

“He threatened to get lost on the way to me if I didn’t.” George hesitated then added, “Thanks for the text, Cips.”

Danny gave him a slightly rueful smile. “Yeah, well, been there, done that, worn the bloody teeshirt. It’ll be next month’s chip paper, it always is, but they’ll flay the fucking hide off you in the meantime. Don’t read it, and whatever you do, don’t read the fucking below the line comments.”

George nodded, and managed not to say that he’d already done exactly that.

For the next couple of hours, Jonny and Danny kept the conversation away from Burgess’ outbursts to the press, staying on safer ground with rugby in general, mainly talking about their hopes for the season at Gloucester. Jonny rambled on as usual and, to George’s surprise, his friend even managed to coax a few laughs out of him. Danny was diligent in including George in the conversation and gradually George started to relax around him. The guy had a self-deprecating sense of humour and was under no illusions as to how he’d not done himself any favours in the past with some of his more outrageous exploits, including getting done for drink-driving as well as landing himself in the magistrates’ court after getting pissed and ending up with a rap sheet as long as his tattooed arm.

When Sophie summoned Jonny out onto the patio to make a start on the barbecue, George and Danny followed and ended up playing ball with the dog, who seemed endlessly happy to tear around madly after a tennis ball. Danny was careful not to do any running, clearly favouring his right leg.

“What happened?” George said, nodding at the leg.

Danny looked faintly embarrassed. “Tripped over a bloody paving slab and ripped a tendon in my knee, and no, I wasn’t pissed.”

“Silly bugger was signing autographs for a bunch of kids and not looking where he was going!” Jonny called. “Got a right bloody bollocking for it and he’s off for a fortnight, so stop chasing after the dog, you daft git!”

Danny held his hands up in surrender. “Guilty as charged.” He limped back to the garden chairs and sprawled out in a lounger. “Fetch me a beer, May! I’ve got to rest!”

Jonny gave him the finger and went back to raking the charcoal on the barbie.

“I’ll get ‘em.” George wandered into the kitchen and was waved in the direction of the huge chrome fridge by Sophie who was busily chopping and de-seeding red peppers. “Can I help with anything?”

“No need, just keep those two out of mischief.” She shot him a sympathetic look. “Sorry about Jonny being a dork, I didn’t know he was going to ask Danny over.”

“It’s all right, honestly.” And to his surprise, he meant it.

Despite Jonny’s usual culinary chaos and his habit of waving a pair of long tongs around like a conductor at the last night of the proms, the food was good and George found himself shovelling more down than he’d managed in the last three days put together, even though by Jonny’s standards his eating was practically anorexic. He kept away from the beef burgers and sausages, but the chicken breasts were great and so were the mushroom and pepper skewers. Jonny watched approvingly as he ate until George told him to fuck off and stop acting like his bloody gran.

Jonny grinned widely. “Told you he’d stop being Broody McBrood Face eventually!” he declared to Sophie, who promptly chucked a napkin at him.

They all mucked in to clear away and when everything was safely stowed in the dishwasher, Sophie said she was heading up to bed. To George’s surprise, after taking Nala for a last run around the garden, Jonny said he was turning in as well as he had an early training session in the morning.

Danny stood up. “I’ll call a cab, mate, and pick the car up in the morning, if that’s OK?”

“Don’t be daft, there’s a room made up for you. Soph told me to tell you earlier, but I forgot, so she’ll murder me if you bugger off now. You know where the booze is, so help yourselves.”

George had been intending to head up to bed as well, but leaving Danny on his own would look rude, so he stayed put, and they sat in companionable silence watching the sun going down over the fields behind the house in a blaze of crimson glory. George felt more peaceful than he’d done since the Sam Burgess shit had blown up and he was glad he’d allowed Jonny to nag him into the visit.

His phone bleeped in his pocket, and he pulled it out, glancing down at the screen.

_How’s it going?_

“Faz,” he said to Danny. He texted back: _OK ta unless Jonny’s barby chicken poisons me_

_Jeez best of luck mate_

They traded texts back and forward for a few minutes, then George stuffed the phone back into his pocket and went back to watching the sky.

“Drink?” Danny offered, standing up. “I fancy a vodka and Coke.”

George didn’t normally drink spirits, but if he had another low cal beer, he’d be up half the bloody night… “Yes please. Same as you.”

“How long are you stopping?” Danny asked when he came back with the drinks.

George shrugged. “I’ve nowt on at the moment, so maybe a couple of days, if that’s OK with Jonny and Soph.”

“Fancy a coffee in town tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, thanks,” George said, not really sure why Danny would want to bother spending time with him, but they’d chatted happily about rugby most of the night, so at least things weren’t awkward between them. His phone buzzed again and he rolled his eyes, wondering who was checking up on him now.

The message on the screen sent his stomach lurching up towards his mouth at speed.

_Are you ever going to come clean?_

George slammed the phone facedown on the table and reached out for the vodka and Coke, gulping down a large mouthful, feeling the burn as it tracked down his throat. The ice rattled in the glass as he put it back down and he knew his hand was shaking. 

The text was unsigned, and the number wasn’t in his contacts list, but he knew who’d fucking sent it. He’d been waiting for this every day for the past fucking week.

With his world slowly crumbling around him, George finished the rest of his drink too quickly and agreed to another.

“Are you OK?” Danny’s voice was soft.

George heard him but didn’t know how to reply. No, he wasn’t fucking OK. When the next lot of shit hit the fan he probably wasn’t ever going to be fucking OK again.

“Yeah, fine. Just…” he trailed off and took another gulp of his drink, staring out over the dark garden, not looking at Danny.

“Sick of all the shit? Trust me, it’ll blow over.” 

He felt the warm touch of Danny’s hand on his and his breath caught in his throat but he didn’t snatch his hand away, he just picked up the glass in his other hand and took another mouthful. Danny’s thumb rubbed a small circle on his skin. It reminded him of the way his mum used to rub circles on his back when he was a little kid and something had upset him. Danny gave his fingers a squeeze.

“Thanks,” George muttered. “Bad week.”

“Finish that and get some kip, mate.”

The first was easy. 

The second was a fuck of a lot harder.


	2. Chapter 2

Danny levered himself out of bed at 6am, threw on last night’s clothes, scribbled a quick note to George that he left in a prominent position on the kitchen table and then headed home for a shower and a change of clothes, hoping he wasn’t still over the limit from the night before.

The roads were quiet and it didn’t take him long to get home, have a shower and throw a couple of cups of coffee down his neck while he wandered around the house, drying off and checking texts and email on his phone. 

It looked like Sam Burgess’ rants were still top of rugby gossip charts on a couple of the forums and in the lower end of the tabloids, with the Vile Online and the Express vying with each other as usual for who could throw the most crap around. A lot of people seemed to think the guy was a grade A wanker, but there were plenty of jealous fuckers ready to shoot their mouths off, and George was coming in for a fair bit of flack in a few quarters, especially from people who didn’t like Mike and were quite happy to trash-talk his son just for the fun of it. And as ever, the below the line comments were fucking awful, full of trolls who could barely string two coherent words together but had an impressive line in insults.

Danny put on a fresh knee support, pulled on a pair of tatty black jeans and a grey teeshirt that his last girlfriend had kept trying to throw out, grabbed a hoody and set off back to Jonny and Sophie’s. They’d both be gone by the time he got there, and he was more than half wondering if George would have bolted for home. He’d looked weirdly rattled the previous night. The last text he’d received had been the culprit, but George had clammed right up and Danny hadn’t liked to push. It wasn’t as if he really knew the guy, and they’d never been friends, but for all the fact that Fordy was as hard as fucking nails on the pitch, he sometimes had an odd air of reserved fragility off it that had got under Danny’s skin. He’d taken enough shit in his own life and didn’t enjoy it when he saw other people going through the same sort of crap.

As he pulled into the wide brick-paved drive at Jonny’s rented place, the sight of George’s car came as a welcome surprise. He rang the bell, expecting Nala to bark the place down as usual, but the house was silent. 

George opened the door a couple of minutes later, the dark smudges under his eyes betraying the fact that he’d had a shit night’s sleep. He saw Danny looking around for the dog and said, “She’s out with the dog walker.”

“Shall we go for that coffee?” Danny suggested. “Jonny’s fucking coffee machine takes a degree in mechanical engineering just to switch the bloody thing on.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll just grab me jacket.”

The coffee shop Danny was aiming for opened at 7.30am, so they’d get there before the place got crowded. The Scandinavian Coffee Pod was a bit trendy, all pale pine mixed with grey and yellow. The place was small and got noisy when it was heaving but the coffee was good and they made a big deal about the beans being roasted next door and everything being ethically sourced. The food was good, too, if you ignored the poncy-sounding menu. Some of the Gloucester lads went in early afternoon, but this early in the morning they weren’t likely to run into anyone.

“Don’t ask for a bacon butty,” Danny muttered, as they went in. “That’ll probably get us thrown out.”

George mustered a weak grin and ordered a pastrami sandwich on rye bread instead. Danny went for a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel. They both ordered flat whites from a largely incomprehensible coffee menu.

They grabbed a corner table and almost immediately ran out of conversation. George hadn’t been that hard going the previous night, but this morning it was like getting blood out of a very silent, very hard stone. Luckily the coffee and the food arrived quickly, so that put off the need to talk.

“Pig products OK?” Danny asked, when George had finally finished picking at the sandwich.

“Yeah, thanks.”

The place was still relatively quiet. There was no point in fannying around trying to steer the conversation back to rugby as George didn’t even seem comfortable talking about that at the moment, so Danny decided just to jump in with both feet. “Fordy, are you OK? You’ve looked like someone’s nicked your pet rabbit since you got that text last night. Is someone giving you shit?”

“Never ‘ad a pet rabbit. Joe wanted a guinea pig once but mum said she wasn’t going to muck out rodents, the rest of us were bad enough.”

“Nice deflection.”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

Danny knew that’s exactly what he’d texted to Jonny yesterday morning, but he also knew telling George they’d been talking about him would go down like a turd in a swimming pool.

He was saved from having to call George a liar by an incoming text on his companion’s phone. George pulled it out of his pocket and swiped the screen. His face when he read the message made it perfectly fucking obvious that he was anything but all right. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to cry, throw up or punch something very hard. Or possibly all three. He stared at the phone then shoved it back in his pocket. Danny reckoned the only thing stopping him bolting was the fact that they’d come in Danny’s car.

“Finish your coffee and we’ll go for a walk,” Danny said, standing up. “I’m just going for a piss.”

When he got back, George was still staring into space. When Danny lightly touched his shoulder, he flinched, then did a bad job of pretending he hadn’t.

“Come on, let’s blow some cobwebs away.”

“You shouldn’t be walking far on that knee.”

“Mate, we spend all our bloody time on the pitch pretending nothing hurts. I’ll be fine with a walk. Just don’t dob me in to Jonny and Soph.”

Danny drove up to Cleeve Hill, to a spot he’d used for running a few times. There were plenty of quiet paths through the woods and he had a feeling he might get more out of George there away from other people. 

They’d been walking for ten minutes, ten very silent minutes, with George brooding for England, glowering the way he did when he thought that Eddie was talking bollocks but didn’t want to contradict him in front of the rest of the squad. Whereas Owen would wear a face like a slapped arse, George just ended up looking like he was auditioning for the part of Heathcliff in a parallel universe where Heathcliff was five foot eight, not a strapping six-footer.

The next buzz from George’s phone brought them both to a standstill. Danny turned in time to see the guy’s face go from glowering to fucking terrified in a heartbeat. George fumbled with the phone, trying to shut it down but ended up dropping it. The large Samsung landed face up and Danny found himself staring down at a very hard dick taken in close-up, so close that he could see the hairs on the guy’s thighs, and ... jesus fuck … a scar at the top of the right thigh, next to the tight dark curls … the scar that George got aged 15 when Owen’s boot had damn nearly had him singing in a higher key for the rest of his life.

Danny’s heart-rate jumped at the stricken look on George’s face as he stared down at the phone. He kept his voice low and even and asked, “Fordy, mate, why the hell’s someone sending you a pic of your own dick?”

George turned away, his fists clenched tight, leaving the phone on the path.

Danny bent down, picked it up and swiped up the screen.

Three texts. 

The first one last night, when they’d been sitting on the patio.

_Are you ever going to come clean?_

The second this morning in the coffee bar.

_If you won’t I will_

The third he’d just seen, and up close there was absolutely no fucking doubt about it. None of them were shy in the changing rooms and Owen had come in for plenty of piss-taking over accidentally booting his best mate in the groin in a ruck in an under-16s game.

All the texts had come from a number with no name against it.

Danny turned the phone off and put his hand on George’s shoulder. “Who’s blackmailing you? Is it that cunt Burgess?”

“It’s not blackmail.” George’s voice was barely louder than the wind in the trees with a world of raw pain in those three words.

“Then what is it? I won’t say anything to anyone. You know I can’t stand the fucker.” 

Danny walked over to a large dead tree and sat down heavily. He was out of his fucking depth with all this. He liked George, even if the guy was hard going at times, but this was nasty shit and he didn’t even know where to start.

“Can you talk to Faz?”

The strong shoulders hunched up into another shrug.

Danny bit back a sigh. “Sit down, mate. Whatever it is, we can sort it out.”

Georgie turned around, his eyes as bleak as a stormy sky, but he sat down, which Danny counted as a win. He handed the phone back. George turned it over in his hands and for a moment Danny thought he was going to chuck it down and stamp on the screen.

He put his hand on George’s arm. “Don’t do that, those things cost a packet.”

“Sorry you had to see that,” George muttered.

“Seen your dick before, mate,” Danny said. “It’s no big deal.” He thumped himself on his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sorry, that sounded better in my head. Look, we’ve probably all done it once, it’s no big deal.”

“Have you?”

“No, but you haven’t ended up in court twice for acting like an arse. I’d say a dick pic scores pretty low against the fines I’ve copped for being a twat.” He pulled George into a one-armed hug. “Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say as well. Is it Burgess?”

Georgie nodded.

“Can I thump him?”

“Faz has already offered, but he doesn’t know about this.”

“What happened?” Danny was very conscious of the fact that George hadn’t pulled away and didn’t want to upset whatever fragile equilibrium they’d reached.

“We got drunk together after a game. We … mucked about a bit.”

Talk about coming out of left fucking field … There was going to be no easy way of asking the next question, but George got in first.

“Yeah, I’m fucking gay.”

OK, that made life easier. Danny tightened his arm around George and didn’t let him pull away. “And Burgess is a fucking cunt. Bloody straight boy fooling around. There’s a lot of the fuckers about. Regretted it in the morning, did he?”

George’s laugh was as hollow as the tree they were sitting on. “It was one fucking kiss. One lousy fucking pissed kiss. There was no chance to do anything else, but I thought he was interested. We chatted by text and …”

“… and he asked for a dick pic. Let me guess, the cunt never sent the one he promised.”

George nodded. 

Danny turned and wrapped his other arm around George, pulling him close, feeling the tension in every corded muscle. The guy was strung so tight that he was probably having fucking trouble breathing. Danny did the only thing he could think of and tightened his own arms around him, just holding him. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Fordy. That’s shit. And he’s now trying to out you on top of the rest of his crap?”

“He’s going to say that’s why we stopped speaking, that I made a pass at him.” George pulled back slightly, not trying to break Danny’s hold on him, just enough to look him in the eyes. “It was one fucking shitty kiss. That’s all.”

The blue-grey eyes told their own story. It wasn’t just one fucking shitty kiss with Burgess, it was the only fucking kiss with a bloke that George had ever had. Danny rested his forehead against George’s, their breath mingling. There was nothing he could think of to say that would help. There were no openly gay players in the professional game in the UK and there was still a load of homophobic god-bothering cunts who thought it was their duty to spout bollocks left, right and fucking centre. 

“How about a not so shitty kiss instead?” Before Danny had time to lose his nerve, he brushed his lips lightly across George’s mouth, close enough to feel the rasp of stubble against his own.

When George didn’t immediately either pull away or lamp him, Danny did it again, this time turning his head and pressing slightly harder. George’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he was kissing Danny back. It was messy and uncoordinated, with a sharp edge of desperation. Danny kept his arms around George, stroking his back, while George kissed him back with the same fierce intensity he always brought to the rugby pitch. When they finally came up for air, the glowering rage had gone from George’s face, leaving him with an air of hopeful uncertainty that made Danny want to kiss him again and it certainly didn’t look like George was going to object.

The next kiss was slower, deeper and calmer. George wound his arms around Danny, running one hand up into his hair and burrowing the other one up inside his teeshirt to stroke his skin. This time when they drew apart, George was smiling. “That was a lot less fucking shitty.”

“Good. I might be an arsehole at times, but I’ve never had any complaints about my kissing skills.”

“I didn’t realise you …” George frowned, groping for words, then settled on “… liked men.”

“I’m bi, mate, but there hasn’t been a bloke for a few years. I was better at staying out of the papers in those days.”

George rested his head on Danny’s shoulder and in a weird way it felt even more intimate than the kiss. “I should never have got engaged. It wasn’t fair to Jess, but I just wanted a normal life and I thought I could have it.”

Danny kissed his forehead. He’d seen the photos after the engagement had been announced, but then the split had come only seven months later. Danny’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered about which way George really swung, but there’d never been any dressing room talk, so he’d kept his thoughts strictly to himself.

“Does she know?”

“No one knows. Apart from you and Burgess.”

“How long have you known?”

There was a long silence, leaving Danny wondering if he’d pushed too far, then George gave an embarrassed laugh. “Since I got a serious hard-on when I was 14 after accidentally clicking on a gay porn site.”

“Accidentally?”

The laugh this time was more natural. “Yeah, OK, I’d gone looking. The lads at school were always watching porno clips on their phones and chatting up girls but all I wanted to do was play rugby and make out I liked girls too. Then when I met Jess, I did like her and thought I could just pretend I was normal.”

Danny turned his head and captured George’s lips again, licking softly into his mouth for a moment. “You are normal, whatever the fuck that is. You can be whatever you want, Fordy. You’re one of the best fucking players there is. You’ve got good mates who’ll stand by you. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m going to get outed as gay by a fucking vindictive bellend on the strength of a two-minute fumble and a fucking stupid photo. I don’t think that counts as having whatever I want.”

“So what do you want?”

The look Danny got from a pair of steady blue-grey eyes sent a bunch of clog-dancing rabbits hopping around in his stomach. “You?”

Fuck, he hadn’t expected that. “Never got the impression you liked me that much.” 

“I don’t.” George’s half-smile slid into a grin. “Doesn’t stop me fancying you, though.”

Danny laughed. “Christ, mate, you need to work on your tact.”

“I’m more tactful than Owen.”

“Attila the Hun’s more fucking tactful than Owen. So you don’t like me much but I snog better than Burgess.”

“Mebbe I like you a bit…”

“Fordy, are you fucking flirting with me?”

George nuzzled Danny’s neck, rubbing his cheek against the stubble like a cat. “Yeah, probably. Is that OK?” The nuzzling turned to kissing and when George ran his tongue delicately around Danny’s earlobe, it went straight to Danny’s already hard cock.

“It’s more than OK…”

The buzz of an incoming text on George’s phone was like a bucket of icy water being dumped over their heads.

“Fuck it!” George sat up straight, stared angrily at the screen then gave a shaky laugh. “Jonny.”

“Tell him his timing’s shit.”

“He says Sophie forgot they’ve got a meal out with some friends tonight. They want me to go along.”

“Can’t I take you out instead?”

“I’ll be shit company.”

“OK, let’s get a takeaway at my place so we can snog like teenagers and work out how the fuck we’re going to deal with that cunt Burgess.”

George let out a long, slow breath, then nodded. “Nuclear strike?”

“That’d work.” Danny stood up and held a hand down. 

George took it, and didn’t let go, even when an elderly woman and a very bouncy red setter passed them on the track. 

The dog stuck its nose in Danny’s groin and its owner gave their joined hands an approving smile as she cheerfully wished them good morning.

They didn’t talk on the way back to the car, but it was a different kind of silence to the broody tension of the walk up into the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive back to Danny’s gave George time to drag his scattered thoughts together and start to come to terms with the fact that he’d just snogged a guy properly for the first time and it had been great. More than great; it had been fucking brilliant.

He’d been serious when he’d told Danny he fancied him. He’d fancied him for years, even when he hadn’t liked him. 

George was under no illusions about himself. He knew he was as boring as a day in the pissing rain in Southport. He had no interests apart from rugby and that was all he ever talked about. That’s what had eventually done for him and Jess; that and the fact that he couldn’t bury the guilt about lying to her, which had made him edgy and unhappy the whole time. They’d got on well enough, that hadn’t been the problem, it was just that they’d ended up feeling like they were walking around under their own personal black clouds. He’d been relieved when she’d said things weren’t working any more and he was happy they’d managed to part as friends.

Trying to hook up with a bloke hadn’t even occurred to him. Then Danny had come along, all easy charm and puppy dog brown eyes, offering sympathy George hadn’t expected, along with a tentative friendship and a kiss that had got him hard in a fucking heartbeat. 

And now he was going back to Danny’s house with him. It was a rented modern detached on a posh estate on the edge of Cheltenham with a front garden enclosed by a high wall and a pair of impressive electrically operated gates. Inside, the house was tidier than George had expected although he suspected Danny’s cleaner was probably responsible for that.

“Coffee?”

“Ta.”

He followed Danny into a large kitchen-diner with view out onto a secluded garden at the rear, ringed with young trees and established shrubs. Danny stuck the kettle on and busied himself with mugs and coffee while George perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. 

While the kettle was boiling, he turned to George with a half-smile on his face. “Can I kiss you again?” 

George grinned at him. “Yeah.” He stood up and wound his arms around Danny’s waist and pulled him in close, his face tilted back. The kiss started soft but didn’t stay that way and it was a while before Danny got back to making the coffee and even then, George kept his arms firmly anchored around the slim waist as he nuzzled Danny’s back through the material of his teeshirt.

“Were you an octopus in a previous life? I can take it off, if you like …”

“Or I can …”

George waited for Danny to finish making the coffee then in one quick movement, he hauled the teeshirt off and dropped it onto one of the chairs. Danny’s left arm was sheathed in tats from shoulder to wrist, complex patterns that George wanted to trace with his fingers and tongue. He contented himself for now with carefully running a fingertip around the circular pattern on Danny’s left side.

“Mum’d have a bloody headfit if I got a tat.”

“Ever fancied one?”

“Fancy yours.”

“Feel free to explore. Come on, let’s work out what the fuck we’re going to do about that cunt Burgess, then we can relax.”

They settled down on a large red and white checked sofa in the kitchen facing the garden, with Danny’s tattooed arm around George’s shoulders. 

“Have you still got the original texts?”

George shook his head. “That phone died months ago and I binned it.”

“Was he using his own phone then?”

“Yeah, the one he sent these fucking texts from is one I don’t know.”

“The git’s using a burner phone.”

“Eh?”

“Pay as you go mobile that can’t be traced back to him.”

“Tracing it back to him’s not going to help me.”

“Fordy, threatening to out you or trying to force you to out yourself is nasty. There’s bound to be something we can do to spike the fucker’s guns.” Danny stroked George’s hair. “I know someone who might be able to help. Do you mind if I make a call?”

George stiffened. “I’m not sure … I don’t know if I can tell anyone else.” His heart-rate had shot up and the anxiety lump had landed back under his ribcage with a heavy thump.

Danny’s arm tightened around him and a pair of soft lips covered his. They kissed until George felt the tension start to disappear again and he relaxed in Danny’s arms.

“If he talks to the papers about this, the buggers’ll be out in force. And you don’t want the Daily Fail taking about dick pics, so we need to do something to stop that.”

“He can still bloody out me, though, can’t he?” George had spent half the fucking night Googling outing and as far as he could see, there was nothing to stop Burgess saying they’d kissed, then the tabloids would do the rest.

“I think so. You been looking it up?” Danny ran his finger lightly over the shadows under George’s eyes. “Is that why you’ve got these?”

“Fell asleep for about an hour at five o’clock.”

“Shit, you must be fucking knackered. Do you want a kip now?”

George ran his hand over Danny’s hard pecs. “Too wired.”

“OK, let me make that call and then we’ll see what we can do to relax you a bit. Trust me, mate, the person I’m going to ring is sound, I promise you.”

“Jesus, Danny, I don’t know. Can’t fucking think straight.”

The sudden buzz from his phone nearly made him throw up the half mug of coffee he’d drunk.

Danny’s hand settled on his. “Do you want me to read it? Might just be Jonny wittering or Faz checking you’re OK.”

George dragged in a shaky breath and checked his phone, letting Danny read the screen with him.

It was from the same fucking number.

_I’ll make some calls tomorrow afternoon_

“Cunt!” Danny slammed his mug down on the coffee table. “Fordy, you can’t let the fucker get away with this and you can’t keep wanting to chuck up every time that damn phone buzzes. Let me make that call …”

“OK.” George downed the rest of his own coffee, needing the caffeine hit but hoping he wasn’t going to bring it straight back up again. “Do it.”

Danny grabbed his own phone and scrolled through his contacts. The name he stopped at was Steph Barker.

The phone was answered on the sixth ring. Danny put it on speaker and balanced it on his knee.

A woman’s voice said, “Danny, how’s tricks?”

“Long story. Sorry to bother you if you’re on shift, Steph, but a friend’s got a problem and we’d be really grateful for some advice. I wouldn’t ask if I could think of any other way around this …”

“You know I can’t fix licence points …” The voice sounded amused and George hoped that was a joke.

“Yeah, if you could, I wouldn’t be in the last chance saloon. But I’m a good boy now …”

“Tell that to the fucking marines. I’m knocking off at five for once, as long as no one gets themselves murdered before then. I’ll call round on my way home. Carl’s taking the boys bowling but I promised to get pizza ready for them when they get back.”

“You’re a bloody star. I’ll owe you big time.”

She laughed. “You already do, Cips. See you later.”

“Police?” George said, already regretting letting Danny make the call.

“DI Stephanie Barker. She’s as rugby mad as her husband and kids. That’s how they met. I hooked up with them at a charity do and they got me involved with a boys’ club Carl runs. Disadvantaged youngsters, all crazy about the game. Trust me, Steffie’ll know what to do.”

George wrapped his arms around himself, feeling lousy. He’d had a fucking week worrying himself sick over Burgess and the crap he was dishing out and he hadn’t even had the bloody worst of it yet.

Danny’s warm hand rubbed steadying circles on his back again. “Breathe, mate, as deeply as you can. You know the drill.”

He did, but that didn’t mean he was any good at putting sodding mindfulness into action. All that happened was that his thoughts chased themselves around in his head even more busily. The bloke who’d tried to drill them in relaxation techniques had called it rumination, which had just started Jonny wittering about cows and extra stomachs, and had left George wanting to kick balls very hard, not all of them rugby ones.

“Stop overthinking and breathe!”

“Can’t you kiss me instead? That works better.”

Danny laughed. “I think I could manage that. Take your trainers off. Lena’ll kill me if we get muddy feet on the sofa.” He toed his off and George did the same, then they shuffled around so they were lying together on the wide, comfortable sofa. “How come you’re wearing a teeshirt and I’m not?”

“Wanted to see the rest of your tats.”

“Fair’s fair, mate …”

Strong hands tugged at his teeshirt and George wriggled up enough for Danny to pull it over his head, then they were lying chest to chest and Danny was kissing him again and his thoughts started to quieten down. Danny’s tongue in his mouth was better than bloody mindfulness any day. The rasp of a close-cropped beard against his skin was what he’d always wanted. Kissing a bloke was totally different to kissing a woman and that roughness on his skin was proof he’d finally got his wish. That and the feel of Danny’s hard cock against his hip.

George relaxed into the kiss, enjoying the warm drift of hands on his back and arms, letting himself be pulled over so he was half lying on top of Danny. The roaming hands stayed strictly above the waist and he was conscious of the fact that Danny was deliberately taking things slowly, letting him set the pace. George didn’t have a clue how far or how fast he wanted to go with this. All he knew was that it felt good, it felt real for the first time ever. He’d always managed fine with sex but at the same time he’d always felt like an outsider in his own body. Now he felt like it was actually him taking part. The feeling of disassociation had gone and the relief that brought him was coming close to driving out the anxiety. Maybe he could go through with whatever Danny had planned for dealing with Burgess. Maybe.

“You’re thinking again.” Danny’s voice in his ear was gently amused and the tongue that licked a wet stripe up his neck and around his earlobe sent a shiver down his spine. “Good shiver or bad shiver?”

“Great shiver.”

“Promise you’ll tell me if I do something you’re not comfortable with?”

“Yeah.” George cuddled close to him and pillowed his head on Danny’s shoulder. “Promise I’ll tell you rather than thump you, but no tickling, OK? Can’t stand being tickled.”

“It’s a deal. No tickling. If it tickles, just say so.”

George closed his eyes, settling his head on Danny’s shoulder, enjoying the scent of citrus deodorant mixed with the faint smell of clean sweat. Danny’s fingers carded through his hair then started to seek out the tension knots in his shoulders and gently kneaded them into submission. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt as good as this.

Sam Burgess could fuck himself sideways with a cactus.

George fell asleep with a slight smile on his face and Danny’s arms around him.

**** 

A gentle kiss on his forehead brought George out of a weird dream where he was chasing Joe Marler around the Leicester pitch dressed as a giraffe. He’d obvious spent too long listening to Jonny talking about his own nocturnal adventures. The last one had involved a giant, pink spotted chihuahua that his friend had texted him about at length.

“Sorry to wake you up, but I desperately need a piss,” Danny said. “And Lena definitely won’t approve of me pissing on the sofa.”

George laughed sleepily. “How long have I been out for?”

“Five hours, give or take ten minutes.”

George sat up. “Fucking hell, sorry, mate.”

Danny pulled him down for quick kiss. “Don’t apologise, you twat. I flaked out as well.”

They untangled themselves and Danny went off to the downstairs loo, limping slightly. George decided to do something useful and put the kettle on again.

When he came back, Danny pulled his teeshirt on and chucked George’s at him. “Steph might be early.”

“Should I go back to Jonny’s and grab something more respectable?”

“She’s a copper, not your grandma. She doesn’t expect Sunday best. Do you fancy anything to eat?

George shook his head. The thought of food made him feel vaguely sick. He just wanted this talk with Danny’s friend over with as quickly as possible, then maybe he’d be able to get his head around what to do next.

The next hour and half passed with him in a vague state of agitation, cuddling on the sofa with Danny, who seemed quite happy just to curl up with him, not trying to make awkward conversation like most people outside his rugby mates did with him. His phone buzzed four times, making George jump and feel sick every time. Twice it was Jonny messaging him daft jokes, one text was from Owen just checking he was OK, and the other was a random text from Joe Marler telling him that Burgess was a shit and no one with any brain cells believed a word of it.

After the fourth text, Danny insisted on mucking around with the settings on his phone so that he would be able to know the difference between those that came from Burgess and those from anyone else. That helped.

At 5.30 exactly Danny’s phone rang. Stephanie Barker had arrived. Danny opened the gates and met her at the door. They hugged, and she followed him into the kitchen. She looked to be a few years older than Danny, maybe mid-30s, casually dressed in tight black trousers with a loose jacket over a sky-blue shirt. Her dark hair was cut short and her equally dark eyes widened in surprise when she saw George.

“DI Steph Barker, George Ford.”

George held his hand out and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm and had nothing to prove.

“Tea?”

“Thanks. I’m parched. Spent all bloody afternoon in meetings. I was thinking of killing someone myself just to liven things up.” In person, George detected a slight trace of a Manchester accent that he’d missed on the phone.

While Danny made tea and more coffee, they chatted about a charity event that was coming up for the boys’ club, then when Danny sat down, she gave him a business-like look and said, “So how can I help?”

George sat there, groping for words, knowing he was looking like a rabbit in the headlights and having no bloody clue how to begin. 

Danny put a steadying hand on his arms and said, “Do you want me to explain?”

George nodded, grateful for the intervention.

Before George could stop him, Danny activated the screen on George’s phone and tapped in the security code he’d obviously seen George use umpteen times that day. He swiped up to the start of the texts and handed it over.

“Fucking hell, Cips!” George blurted the words out and made a grab for the phone.

“She’s a copper, mate, there’s nothing there she’s not seen before.”

A fierce flush shot up George’s cheeks, leaving him feeling lightheaded and sick again.

“George sent that picture to someone he thought was a friend, Steph. They asked him to send it to them.”

“Do you know who’s sending these texts?” she asked.

Numbly, George nodded.

“He only sent that pic to one person,” Danny volunteered.

“They could have passed it on to someone else.”

“Yeah, it’s possible. But there’s only one fucker out to cause trouble for Fordy at the moment and that’s Sam bloody Burgess.”

“Do you know the number of the phone he usually uses now?”

Danny looked at George. “No, but I can find out.” 

George knew that Owen had sent a few furious texts to Burgess that had been met by the words ‘Fuck off, Faz, it’s none of your business.’ 

“OK, that’s good. Unless whoever it is has been very clever, the chances are that his own phone will still have been switched on at the same time that the burner phone was used. Phone mast triangulation can give a fix on both phones. If they come up close together, it’ll be very interesting.”

“Can you do that?” Danny sounded as hopeful as George felt.

“Not without authorisation, but I don’t think it’ll come to that. There’s enough here to frighten him off, unless he’s very, very stupid.”

“But I sent that to start with,” George said.

“That’s not an offence unless you sent it intending to harass or intimidate. You’re both adults. He asked for it. Have you still got the original texts?”

“Phone died and I binned it.”

“No problem. They’ll still be available if we got the relevant warrants, but as I say, I don’t think it’ll come to that. It’s an offence under section 127 of the Communication Act 2003 to persistently make use of a public electronic communications network for the purpose of causing annoyance, inconvenience or needless anxiety. It certainly looks to me like you’ve been caused needless anxiety.”

Danny grabbed hold of George’s hand and squeezed it hard. “I said you could trust her, mate. Steph, you’re a fucking star!”

“They teach us this sort of stuff in cop school, Danny boy, and I did my dissertation at uni on hate crimes, which is what this amounts to. I predict that a conversation with Mr Burgess will be enough to knock this on the head. Mr Ford, I’ll need a statement from you, I’ll also need to take your phone for a while.” 

George held hard to Danny’s hand, feeling like his stomach was trying to crawl out of his throat. She seemed confident that she could get Burgess to back off, but there was no way George wanted this to go to court. It would be too fucking embarrassing.

“Just George. Mr Ford’s me dad. Does it have to be official?”

“I need to cover my own back, so I’ll have to have an official statement from you, but it doesn’t have to go further than a conversation with him if you don’t want it to. Providing he stops behaving like an arse.”

“He’ll fucking well back off,” Danny said. “Steffie can be very persuasive.”

She laughed. “Stick the kettle on again, Cips. I’ll get a statement pad from my car and we can deal with this now.”

Under Steph Barker’s gentle but thorough questioning, George went through what had happened in a hotel room with Burgess and what he remembered of the content of the original texts. George had a good memory for detail, so it wasn’t hard to remember some of them word for word. She nodded approvingly as she wrote out the statement rapidly and neatly then gave it to George to read through.

“Are you staying with Danny at the moment? It would help to have a Cheltenham address, otherwise I should pass this over to Leicester.”

Danny squeezed George’s hand again. “You’re welcome to stay with me if you don’t want Jonny’s address on this.”

“Please. I need time to decide how to deal with the rest of it. I’m going to put the Leicester house on the market, though.” It was way too big for him now Jess had moved out, and he wanted to get away from the memories.

She added in Danny’s address and then handed him a pen so he could sign the statement. George dashed off his signature without hesitation. He trusted this direct woman with her sympathetic but non-nonsense manner and he was so fucking relieved that he’d agreed to Danny phoning her.

She pulled a plastic evidence bag out of her pocket and George turned his phone off and dropped it into the bag. She made a note of the security code he gave her.

“Will I get it back?”

“Yes. I hope it won’t take too long. Can you get me Burgess’ mobile number? And do you know where he is?”

“Faz – Owen Farrell’s – got his number. Burgess is in the UK, I think.”

“Trying to flog his shitty clothing line in London,” Danny commented. At George’s look of surprise, he laughed, “Yeah, I’ve been cyber-stalking the fucker. Do you want to use mine to ring Faz to get his number and tell him yours is out of action at the moment?”

“Ta.” Danny handed him his phone, and George scrolled through the contacts until he found Owen’s name. 

His friend picked up quickly, his voice wary. “Cips?”

“No, it’s me. Faz, my phone’s buggered. Could you do me a couple of favours? Stick a message on the WhatsApp group to say I’m out of contact until I get it sorted, and can you let me have Burgess’ mobile number?”

“Stay away from him, Fordy, the fucker’s not worth it.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, mate, but I need that number.”

“OK, I’ll text it to Cips’ phone now. How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, honest. It’s been good to get away. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow.”

Almost immediately, Danny’s phone bleeped with an incoming text and George showed the number to Steph.

“Thanks.” She gave Danny a hard look. “Promise me you won’t contact him in any way/”

He held up both hands. “I’m not that fucking stupid.”

“So you keep telling me. Bugger off into the garden for a minute, the pair of you. I’m going to see if I can get hold of him now.”

Christ, she didn’t hang about. George barely registered Danny hauling him up and tugging him out into the garden, sliding the patio doors shut behind them. A strong arm settled around his waist and gave him a much-needed hug.

George turned into Danny’s arms, resting his head on his shoulder. “Fuck, Danny, what have I just done?”

“The right thing, mate. The right fucking thing.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You can come in, boys!” Steph Barker called.

From her cheerful tone, Danny was sure his police officer friend had got what she’d wanted out of the conversation. At his side, George radiated tension. Danny kept a firm hold of his hand as they settled down on the sofa again.

“I got through to him. He’s coming to see me at the station tomorrow.” The satisfaction in her tone was unmistakeable.

Even Danny’s eyes widened at that and he heard George’s sharp intake of breath.

“Don’t worry. I insisted. I want the fucker off balance.”

“What if he lawyers up?”

Her smile wouldn’t have looked out of place on a wolf. “He’s welcome to. I’ll lay any bets that he didn’t switch his own phone off when he sent those texts and if he wants to challenge me to prove it, I will. He knows what it’s all about and I’m not convinced he’ll want to air his dirty washing in front of a brief. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. He’s meant to be with me at 11 o’clock. If he’s not, more fool him.” She stood up and held her hand out to George. “Try not to worry.”

“Thank you,” George said. “Thank you so much. I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t.”

“No reason why you should have known. They teach people like me to know this stuff for you.”

“And people like me to teach you to kick balls,” Danny said, grinning. He’d once spent an afternoon teaching Steffie and her kids place kicking. She’d been scarily accurate.

She ruffled his hair. “I was kicking balls long before I ever met you, Cips. Ask some of the little fuckers I’ve put away. Now have a drink and relax, the pair of you. I’ll come round here tomorrow when I’ve seen him. I’ll text first.”

Steph hugged him, shook George’s hand and left.

She’d been with them no more than an hour and a half, but from the look on George’s face, it had felt like a lifetime.

“The sun is very definitely over the bloody yardarm,” Danny announced, sticking the mugs in the dishwasher. “And no, I haven’t got any of that low cal muck Jonny was feeding you. “Do you like oranges?”

George looked puzzled but nodded.

Danny grabbed a bottle of Chase orange gin out of his drinks cupboard, poured a large measure into two glasses, added ice and a slice of blood orange and topped it up with cold tonic. The look on George’s face was a picture.

“Stop being a bloody professional northerner. You won’t know if you like it unless you try it.” He leaned in for a quick kiss. “And that goes for a lot of things.”

A faint blush crept up George’s cheeks. He sniffed the drink dubiously, then took a sip. “That doesn’t taste like what our mum drinks.” He took a larger mouthful and grinned.

“When did you last eat properly? You barely picked at the barbie last night.”

George looked vague.

Danny rolled his eyes. “OK. Chinese, Italian, Indian or I could just knock up steak, oven chips and peas…”

“Steak and chips.” George wasn’t known for adventurous eating, but it looked like his horizons had just been widened when it came to booze.

“OK. You’d best let Mike and your mum know about your phone.”

They settled back down on the sofa with their drinks. George rang his mum, sounding just as self-conscious as any 27-year-old bloke did when talking to his mother in front of someone he’d recently been snogging.

“Battery died,” he explained to her. “I’m staying with Jonny and Soph for a couple of days, but we’re all out tonight. He’ll be able to get me if you need me for anything. Can you tell Dad and Joe? Yeah, I’m fine, honest.”

Danny hid a smile behind his gin glass. That seemed to be George’s stock phrase when anyone asked how he was. His mum probably set as little store by it as Danny did.

They finished their drinks, enjoyed a pleasantly orange-flavoured kiss, then Danny started cooking. His culinary skills weren’t up to much, but he did know how to cook a decent steak. George wolfed down the food like it was going out of fashion and loaded the dishwasher while Danny tidied up, then he grabbed a bottle of wine and they retired to the living room. The house wasn’t cold, but the novelty of having a woodburning stove hadn’t worn off yet, so Danny lit the stove, pulled the curtains even though it was still fairly light, and sprawled out on the sofa with George, dimming the uplighters with the remote.

“Fancy watching TV or a movie?”

George shook his head. “Couldn’t concentrate.”

“I was only thinking of something daft. Have you seen Hot Fuzz?”

“No.”

“High time we remedied that, Fordy.”

George nestled against him comfortably with Danny’s arm around him. They settled for drinking from one glass as they watched the film and traded lazy kisses. George also seemed to enjoy tracing the inked patterns on Danny’s arm with his tongue, stopping occasionally to laugh at the film.

When Danny leaned over to pour more wine, George tugged his teeshirt up and said hopefully, “Lose the teeshirt?”

Danny obligingly pulled it over his head for the second time that day and made sure George followed suit. They settled down again and a few moments later, a warm tongue swiped tentatively over Danny’s left nipple. He made an approving noise in his throat and, emboldened by that, George sucked it lightly into his mouth. The sensation went straight to Danny’s cock. George’s hand roamed over his chest, rubbing his other nipple.

“Less squishy than tits.” The remark, delivered in George’s flat Lancashire tones, nearly made Danny spit out a mouthful of wine on a wave of surprised laughter.

“Nicer, or just less squishy?”

“Definitely nicer.” He ran his hand over Danny’s chest, sliding down to the waistband of his jeans and skimming over the obvious bulge. “Can I?” he asked, tugging at the zip.

“Be my guest.”

George flipped open the button and carefully tugged down the fly to reveal the outline of Danny’s hard cock pressed against the thin fabric of his boxers. George settled his hand on him, more intent now on Danny than he was on the film. Danny didn’t like to ask, but he was pretty certain that this was the first time George had touched a cock other than his own.

A pair of hopeful blue-grey eyes looked up at him and George gave his cock a slight squeeze. The body part in question gave an obliging twitch. George slipped his hand inside and Danny’s breath caught in his throat. The look of intense concentration on George’s face was so fucking hot …

Strong fingers encircled him and stroked him hesitantly.

Danny took a mouthful of wine then set the glass on the floor so he could tilt George’s chin up to kiss him again. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Fordy, has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Read some stuff on some of the forums. Most of ‘em are me mum’s age. Middle-aged women’s crumpet, that’s me.”

“They want to mother you.”

“You reckon?”

“No, they probably want to bang your brains out.”

George snorted with laughter and nipped lightly at Danny’s nipple, squeezing when his cock twitched again. “Do you?”

“You’ve got your hand on my dick, you tell me, mate.” He nuzzled George’s hair. “Yes, but only when you’re ready for it. This morning, you weren’t even sure you liked me that much.”

“Didn’t even really know you then.” George ran his hand up and down Danny’s hard cock. “You’ve been fucking brilliant today.”

“No worries. Glad to help.” Danny closed his eyes, revelling in the touch of George’s hand. He enjoyed bedding women, but there was something about a bloke’s hand that was different, the skin that much rougher, the fingers stronger, the technique different.

“How d’you like it?” George asked.

“Any which way,” Danny admitted. “Christ, that feels good. Can I return the favour?”

A shout of “Swan!” from the TV brought a snort of laughter from them both.

“Probably fall off the couch if you do …”

“Do you want to take this upstairs, or is that going too fast?”

George grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Trying to be a gentleman for once.” Danny sat up and buttoned his jeans so they’d stay up long enough for him to get upstairs. “Come on, gorgeous.”

Neither of them was concerned about being naked or hard. Dumping their remaining clothes unceremoniously on the floor, they sprawled out on the bed together, hands roaming over warm skin and tongues tangling together. Danny wrapped his fingers around George’s cock, tugging his foreskin back and swiping a bead of moisture with his finger then licking the tip. George’s eyes widened, so Danny did it again, then wriggled down the bed to replace his fingers with his mouth.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” George murmured, running his fingers through Danny’s hair.

Danny swirled his tongue around the swollen head, then started peppering George’s hard cock and his strong thighs with open-mouthed kisses. Only when he licked over the scar at the top of his thigh did George tense, so Danny moved quickly away, teasing another bead of pre-come with the tip of his tongue, then taking George fully into his mouth, remembering how much he’d always enjoyed sucking another bloke’s cock. He was seriously out of practice, though, and it probably showed, although the low moans George was coming out with told him that any deficiencies in his technique weren’t much of a problem.

“Going to come,” George gasped urgently, warning Danny to pull away.

Danny pulled off long enough to say, “Good,” then he went back to what he’d been doing, swirling his tongue around the swollen head and sucking.

George’s hips jerked and salty come pulsed into Danny’s mouth. He swallowed, running his hands over George’s hips and holding him in place until he’d thrust through an intense climax between Danny’s lips. He was way too out of practice to take George much deeper, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Danny wriggled back up the bed and sprawled out with his head on George’s shoulder, getting his breathing back under control.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” George repeated, although it came out more like ‘fookin’. 

He reached down and started stroking Danny’s hard cock, using the moisture beading at the tip to slick his fingers. It might have been his first time with a bloke, but he knew how to deliver a handjob, and Danny was soon thrusting up into the tight circle of George’s fist whilst being thoroughly kissed.

Danny gasped into George’s mouth as he came, hard. They lay there, hot and sticky, breathing heavily. “Fuck, that was good,” Danny breathed. “You were good.”

“Used to wank a lot.”

“Two sorts of men, mate. Wankers and liars.”

By the side of the bed, Danny’s phone rang. He rolled over and swiped the screen. “Jonny.” He accepted the call, hoping he wasn’t breathing too hard. “Hiya, mate.”

“Hi, Cips, Fordy still with you? We’re going to be about another hour here, but Soph’s not drinking, so we could swing over and pick him up later, if you like?”

“You’re all right, mate. He was pretty knackered, so he’s going to crash here tonight.”

“You two getting on OK?”

“Peachy, mate, honest. Been watching Hot Fuzz.”

“SWAN!”

“Arp!”

“Sophie says dinner at our place tomorrow to make up for tonight, OK?”

“Great, thanks. Enjoy the rest of your night, mate. Love to Soph.” He dropped the phone back on the bedside table. “Did you catch that?”

“Yeah.” George rested a sticky hand Danny’s chest. “They’re good mates.” He looked up, his eyes warm. “So’re you. And I do like you, you know.”

Danny laughed. “Thank fuck for that. Won you over with my culinary skills, did I?”

“Mebbe,” George kissed his shoulder. “Can I use your shower? Feeling a bit sweaty.”

“It’s big enough for two.”

By the time they stumbled out of the en-suite, they were both half-hard again and laughing after Danny had learned the hard way that George liked to end a shower with an icy blast. They towelled each other dry then Danny padded naked down to the kitchen at George’s request to pour another orange gin.

“Converted you to gin, have I?” Danny said, handing the glass to George and slipping back into bed.

“Poncy southerners.”

“I’ll try you on rhubarb and ginger gin next …”

Even in the dim light of the bedroom, the look of outrage was obvious. “Fuckin’ won’t.”

“Making it my business to broaden your horizons, Georgie lad!”

George sucked an ice cube into his mouth, crunched it like a sweet and then fastened a cold mouth on Danny’s nipple, swirling his tongue around and sending a shiver of pleasure through Danny’s body, making his cock start to sit up and take notice again. 

“See how you like it,” Danny said, fishing another ice cube out of the glass and applying it directly to one of George’s nipples.

George arched his chest up, following the touch. “Nice try, mate. Forgotten the cold shower, have you?”

“Bollocks, yes.” He dropped the ice cube back in the gin and took a large swig instead, then licked the water drops off George’s chest.

“Do you think Steph really will be able to sort Burgess out?” George sounded like he hardly dared hope that she could make the problem go away for him.

“She’ll run rings around him.”

“Then what?”

“Then it’ll be up to you to come out on your own terms, if that’s what you want. And if you don’t want to, that’ll be your choice, too.”

George sighed. “What about us?”

“Are you asking me out, Fordy?”

The frequently stormy eyes were soft and hopeful. “Yeah.”

Danny kissed him lightly on the lips. “The answer’s yes. Be nice not to worry about boring someone with rugby talk.”

“Always wondered if I’d ever be able to say I ‘ad a boyfriend.”

“Are you going to say it, or would you rather just see how it goes?”

“See how it goes tomorrow?” He slid his arm around Danny’s waist. 

“Sure. No pressure.”

“Wouldn’t just be me, though, would it? You’re not out, either.”

Danny laughed. “Mate, the tabloids would just say I’d shag anything with a pulse. Rugby’s bad boy, me.”

“Not sure I’ve got big enough knockers to be seen out with you.”

“You’d look crap in a dress, too, but I can slum it, no worries. We’d be fucking poster boys for gay rugby.”

George looked even more horrified by that than he had at the idea of rhubarb and ginger gin, but the hard length of his cock pressed against Danny’s thigh told a different story.

Their kissing quickly turned heated again and soon, George was sprawled out underneath him, his hands raking Danny’s back and roaming over his arse.

“Will you fuck me?” George asked quietly, his hips bucking up as he chased the friction of Danny’s cock against his.

Danny gasped against George’s neck. “Jeez, I’m not going to last if you do that again …”

He rolled off George and reached over to the drawer in his bedside cabinet. Condoms weren’t a problem, he was always careful, but what he couldn’t find was any lube. It had been bloody ages since he’d needed any.

“Hang on, need to check the bathroom cabinet.”

He had more luck there. Back in bed, he quickly skinned on a condom, and gently urged George on to his side, spooning behind him and kissing the back of his neck. Nudging George’s strong thigh up, he ran his hands over his arse and gently spread his cheeks, circling the tight ring of muscle with his fingertips. George tensed but Danny carried on kissing his neck until he started to relax again.

“Are you OK with this?” Danny murmured.

“Yeah.”

Danny took the fact that he didn’t claim to be fine, honest, as a good sign. He quickly slicked his cock and nudged it between George’s cheeks. He was taking a risk doing this without any preliminaries, but the way George had tensed had sent the signal that he hadn’t been comfortable with Danny touching him there. Danny’s first boyfriend had been like that, way too embarrassed to let Danny finger him until much later in their relationship.

He kept kissing and nuzzling George’s neck, rubbing his stubble against sensitive skin as he worked George’s cock with his hand, while keeping up a steady pressure until he slid home into George’s hot, tight body.

George gasped, but didn’t pull away. “Fuck …”

Danny laughed, his breath ghosting between George’s shoulder blades. “Yeah, that’s the general idea. Feel OK?”

“Feels weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Dunno.”

Danny kept working George’s cock, sliding slick fingers up and down until he drew a gasp of pleasure and felt the tension start to drain out of George’s body again. Using every ounce of self-control he possessed, Danny pushed in as gently as he could until he felt his balls pressing against George’s arse. He pulled George tightly to him and tried not to give into the urge to start thrusting hard. This was about George, not him, and he wanted to make his first time with a bloke as good as it could be.

Moving slowly and carefully, he drew back, before pushing home again and this time George pushed back against him with a gasp as Danny’s fingers circled the head of his cock.

“Feels good …”

Danny kissed the back of his neck. “Good, not weird now?”

“Good. Not made of glass, mate, you can move if you want. I’ve had boots up my arse that hurt more than this.”

Danny started laughing. “Christ, I knew there was a reason I liked fucking blokes.”

He rolled George over onto his stomach and started to thrust properly, enjoying the tight heat, pulling out then slamming home again, drawing breathy moans from George as his cock slid against the cotton sheets. He’d thought for years that George had an arse to die for, but he’d never thought he stood a chance of getting up close and personal with it …

George bucked against him and Danny felt the controlled power in the rock-hard muscles of his thighs and then conscious thought took a back seat to feeling and need. They moved together by turns hot and hard then soft and pliant. Breathing became ragged and Danny knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. His hands roamed over George’s body, sliding up his arms until their fingers were twined together as Danny rode a warm tide of sensation, feeling the play of muscle against his chest as George pushed back against him hard, taking everything that Danny had to give and wanting more.

Danny could feel heat pooling low in his belly and knew he was close. He rolled sideways, pulling George with him so he could get his hand back on his lover’s cock, stroking hard and fast, drawing a bone deep groan from George as he lost his rhythm, not knowing whether to push back against Danny’s strokes or thrust up into the tight circle of his fingers.

Trusting that George could take it, Danny slammed home hard, his hand tightening as George’s cock pulsed in his hand and his arse spasmed around Danny’s cock. With a groan, Danny thrust through his own climax, feeling sparks dance along every nerve, as he held George to him, feeling the tremors of orgasm coursing through the muscular body, now relaxed and pliant against him.

“Fuckin’ ell.”

Danny started laughing again. “Was that OK?”

“Fuckin’ brilliant.”

“You’re a romantic little sod, Ford.”

George twisted around and gave Danny a lazy kiss that didn’t earn either of them any points for artistic merit. “What I’ve always wanted. That better?”

“Yeah, that’ll do. For the record, it was fucking brilliant for me, too.”

Reluctantly, he let his softening cock slip from George’s body and staggered into the bathroom to dispose of the condom and get a warm wet flannel to clean them up.

Afterwards, George pillowed his head on Danny’s shoulder and they lay together, arms around each other.

“Thanks, Cips,” George murmured, as his breathing deepened and he slipped into sleep.

Danny pressed a kiss into George’s tousled hair and held him while he slept.


	5. Chapter 5

George drifted slowly out of sleep, conscious of the weight of an arm around his waist and a warm body pressed up against his back.

For the first time in over a week, he’d woken up without a sudden lurch into the sickening feeling of anxiety that had dogged him since Sam Burgess had splurged his crap all over the media. 

Danny’s arm tightened around him. “Morning, gorgeous.”

George pressed back against him, feeling Danny’s hard cock and the slight, unaccustomed ache in his own arse. “Morning. D’you need a piss or are you just pleased to see me?”

Warm laughter ghosted over his back. “Both. Fancy a brew?”

“What time is it?”

“Half six.”

“Brew’d be good. I’ll just grab a quick shower.”

Danny nuzzled the back of his neck. “You’re on your own with that, sunshine. The Niagara Falls in winter isn’t my idea of fun. I’ll bring the tea back up here.”

“Wimp.” George rolled out of bed and headed for the en-suite. 

He showered quickly, using liberal handfuls of Danny’s citrus gel to rinse last night’s sweat from his body. The hot water relaxed his muscles and the final blast of cold water woke him up. After cleaning his teeth, he wandered back into the bedroom, towelling his hair. Danny set a mug of tea on the bedside table and then headed into the bathroom for his own shower.

A screen of tall trees at the end of the garden ensured privacy, and when Danny came out, George was watching the antics of a fat grey squirrel busily raiding a bird feeder.

“Feels weird not having a phone to dick around on,” George commented. “Do you think Burgess really will turn up?”

“Yes, but forget about that fucker. Steph’ll sort him. Until then, we’ve got the morning to ourselves. Anything you fancy doing?”

“Going back to bed?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” A warm hand stroked over his arse. “Not too sore?”

“Mate, I get jumped on by bigger blokes than me every time I go on a pitch.”

“Yeah, but they don’t shove their dicks up your arse.”

“I swear a couple have copped a feel.”

“That’s one for the gossip rags.”

They sprawled out on the bed, drinking tea then kissing and lazily running their hands over each other’s bodies. George determinedly mapped each one of Danny’s tattoos with his fingers and tongue, tracing the swirling patterns, feeling the taut play of muscle under his hands. He worked his way down Danny’s body, massaging his injured knee, feeling the slight puffiness and working on it until he could feel it reduce. They’d all had so many injuries on the pitch that it wasn’t hard to pick up a few tips from the physios.

“You walked too far yesterday.”

“Yes, mum, sorry, mum.”

George planted a kiss on the knee. “I’ll have another go at it later.” He propped himself on his elbow and ran his hand up Danny’s already half-hard cock, taking his time to watch it fill in response to his light touches. Even after everything they’d done last night, he still felt like a kid unwrapping a new toy on Christmas morning. 

He glanced up at Danny who was watching him with a lazy smile on his face, his dark hair damp and tousled. “Never thought I’d get to do this.”

“You can do it as often as you want now, with whoever you want.” Danny’s dark eyes were soft.

“Just you,” George said, working Danny’s foreskin back and bending his head to circle the hard cock with his tongue.

“Fuck, that’s hot!” Danny ran his fingers through George’s damp hair, making it stand up in spikes.

“Always wondered what it was like.” He licked experimentally at the bead of moisture at the tip. It was slightly salty, but not unpleasant. He tongued the pink slit and got a sharp gasp in return, so he did it again, starting to learn what pushed Danny’s buttons. “Jonny tried to suck his own dick once.”

Danny shook with laughter. “What happened?”

“Couldn’t bend far enough. We decided he’d need to lose a couple of vertebrae. He didn’t seem so keen after that.” George took Danny’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around as Danny had done with him and sucking gently. 

“Not going to last much longer if you keep doing that,” Danny warned, his breath catching in his throat.

George pulled back and made his way up the bed to deliver a hard kiss, then he sprawled out on his stomach again and spread his legs.

“Only if you’re sure …” Danny’s warm lips pressed a kiss to his shoulder and the slight scratch of his close-cropped beard went straight to George’s cock.

“Totally.” George pillowed his head on his arms and closed his eyes, enjoying the slow drift of Danny’s hands and mouth over his body.

Danny trailed open-mouthed kisses down his back, sending shivers through his body, each one chasing the other like fairy lights dancing on his skin, simultaneously too much and not enough. George craved the feel of Danny’s hard cock inside him. The sound of a condom wrapper being torn sent another shiver down his spine.

Strong hands stroked his arse and spread his cheeks. George fought against embarrassment as a cool, slick finger circled him then slipped inside his body.

“Relax.” Danny massaged more of the cool gel into him. “I’m not getting the blame if you can’t sit down comfortably at Jonny’s tonight.”

George huffed a laugh and let him get on with it. The sensation of a finger sliding in and around his slightly sore arse was very pleasant once he was able to switch conscious thought off and just stay with how it felt. By the time Danny shifted position over him, George was breathing hard and rubbing his hard cock against the sheet, pushing back against Danny and wanting more. The blunt head of Danny’s cock pushed against him and as George gasped, he slid home in one smooth thrust that drove every last coherent thought out of George’s head.

The sharp mix of pleasure and pain was all George had ever craved and more. Their bodies moved together in an easy rhythm, George pushing back to meet Danny’s thrusts, their strength equal, no need to hold back. His moans of pleasure made Danny slam home harder, then something inside exploded bright sparks behind George’s eyes and sent a sharp jolt of electric pleasure down his cock.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, do that again,” he gasped.

Danny shifted position above him and drove in again. The sparks ignited in a warm rush and George came, hard, his hips thrusting against the bed as he felt his arse tighten around Danny’s cock, drawing a groan of pleasure from him as he thrust again until his hips lost their rhythm and he sprawled on top of George, kissing and nuzzling his neck and murmuring how fucking good it had felt.

George’s heart was hammering in his chest as he kept clenching around Danny and pushing back against him, chasing the last of the sensations coursing through his body, feeling like he’d just necked half a dozen vodka shots then done a hundred push-ups. George was barely conscious of Danny pulling out and cleaning him up with a handful of tissues before pulling him up into a warm cuddle that was all hands and gentle kisses.

They stayed in bed for another couple of hours, cuddling and dozing, but as the numbers on the bedside clock crept past 10 o’clock, George had to admit to how jittery he was feeling waiting for Steph’s call. They had a quick shower, with Danny remembering to jump out before George had a chance to turn the dial to cold, then it was downstairs for another brew.

By midday, George was sitting on the sofa in the kitchen, worrying at the skin on the side of his thumb the way he used to do as a kid. Danny had stopped trying to get him to relax and just sat there, his arms around him, holding him close. The contact helped ground him, but when Danny’s mobile finally rang, George still jumped like a scalded cat.

“Steph,” Danny said, putting the call on speaker. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. Put the kettle on, I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”

George let out a long, shaky breath and clung to the word fine like a teddy bear. 

When Steph Barker walked in, she gave Danny a hug and shook George’s hand. “He won’t be bothering you again.” 

The butterflies dancing in George’s stomach abruptly came to a halt. “What happened?”

“I told him I had reason to believe that he had making improper use of public electronic communications networks for the purpose of sending messages to cause annoyance, inconvenience and needless anxiety. I explained exactly what data I was able to obtain via the mobile phone networks and that I would have no problem whatsoever in obtaining the necessary information warrants as the Chief Constable and half the judges in Cheltenham are big rugby fans. I pointed out that I would be able to trace the position of the phone used to send the texts to you to within a 15-metre radius and that I believed the data would show that his own phone had been in the same radius at the same time. That, coupled with his recent attacks on you, would, in my opinion, provide a strong enough case for the CPS.”

“Jeez,” Danny breathed. “I wish I could have seen the fucker’s face. Did he have a lawyer with him?”

“No, as I suspected, he wasn’t keen on airing his dirty washing in public. Long story short, he caved and admitted it. He agreed to accept a caution. If he’s got any sense, he’ll keep his head down for a very long time.”

“Thanks,” George said, feeling suddenly light-headed. “Thanks, Steph.” 

“I owe you big time for this,” Danny said. “You’re brilliant!”

She smiled at them. “You’d be surprised how often the buggers do just cave. Makes our job a lot easier.” She took a plastic bag out of her pocket and handed George his phone back. “I have a signed statement from him confirming that no one else has seen the photograph and that he hasn’t told anyone else about it.”

George was pulled into a warm hug and felt himself relaxing against Danny, letting the tension drain out of him, leaving him feeling like he’d just staggered out of a day-long training session.

“I’d better get back,” Steph said. “I’ve got a drugs bust to organise. Let me know when you’re next over, George, and we’ll go out for a drink and I’ll get your autograph for my kids.”

When Danny came back from seeing her out, he gave George another hug. “OK?”

“More than OK. She’s fucking amazing.”

Danny stuck the kettle on again and gave George a questioning look. “What do you want to do now?”

“I want to come out on my own terms, not shoved into it by a fucker like Burgess.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure, mate. I want to be able to walk down the street with you, holding hands. I want to be able to kiss you in a restaurant. I want to be able to put my arm around you tonight in front of Jonny and Sophie. I want to tell my family, and I want to tell Owen. How’s that for starters?” 

George knew his voice was close to breaking, and he didn’t care. He’d bottled all this up inside him for so fucking long that he’d felt like a pressure cooker ready to burst. When Burgess had been threatening to out him, it had felt totally different. He’d been sick and scared. Now it was different. It was his life and his choice. There was just one thing he hadn’t factored in, and suddenly all the old insecurities flooded back.

“Shit. I haven’t asked you what you want. I’m not much of a fucking catch. I’ll moan if you get muddy footprints in the car and I fuss about cushions. Ask Jonny.”

Danny’s wide smile forced the shadows back. “You’re exactly what I want. But are you really sure you want to hook up with the game’s bad boy?”

“Reformed character, mate, you told me so yourself.” George switched on his phone and went to his favourites, with Owen’s name at the top of the list. He pressed the green telephone signal and drew in a deep breath. “Faz, it’s me.”

“Sorted your battery out?” Owen was panting, probably in the middle of training.

“Yeah, well, no, not really. Long story. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“OK …”

“I’m gay, mate.”

The silence at the other end of the phone lasted no more than a heartbeat. “Thank fuck for that. I thought you were about to say you’d signed for St Helens.”

A relieved laugh burst out. “Your dad’d bloody kill me if I did that. I’m not that daft. There is something else, though …”

“Yeah?” Owen’s tone was warm, open.

“I’m seeing Cips.”

“Seeing, as in going out with?”

“Yes. I’ve … had some shit going on the past few days. I’ll tell you properly when I see you, but Cips has been fucking brilliant. He sorted me out and a friend of his sorted (repetition) the shit out.”

“Well, he’s had enough of his own shit to sort out. Didn’t realise he was gay.”

“Bi. Is it a problem, mate?”

“Nope. But tell him if he hurts you I’ll go into full on protective big brother mode.”

“You’re only 18 bloody months older than me.”

“Yeah, but I’m definitely bigger than you. Have you told your mum and dad?”

“Going to ring mum next.”

“It’ll be fine, Fordy.”

“You didn’t sound surprised.”

“Known you most of my life, mate. And I’m not totally bloody oblivious.”

“Most of the time you are.”

Owen laughed. “Cheeky sod. Fuck off and ring your mum. Talk later?”

“Sure.”

“And tell Cips it’s fine, and thanks for helping you.”

“Will do.” George closed his eyes in relief, then said. “He was fine. Said to tell you thanks for helping me.”

“Am I going to get the shovel talk?” 

“’spect so. I’m going to phone mum now.”

“Do you want me to bugger off?”

George shook his head. His mum answered as quickly as ever.

“Phone sorted?”

“All fine, mum. Have you got a minute to talk?”

“Let me turn a pan down then I’m all yours.” A moment later, she said, “You sound serious, Georgie. Is there a problem?”

“Mum, I’m going out with someone.”

“Love, it’s been a while since Jessica. You’re entitled to be happy.”

“I’m seeing a bloke, mum.”

“That’s fine, love.” The response came without hesitation. “Anyone we know?”

“It’s Danny, mum, Danny Cipriani.”

“Nice-looking lad. Shame about the tattoos.”

“Mum! I’ve just told you I’m gay and you’re more bothered about his tats?” George laughed, the last of the tension bleeding out of him. He grabbed Danny’s arms and stroked the inked skin.

“Just don’t get any ideas about getting some yourself.”

“If I promise no tats, is it all right if I bring him home to meet you?”

“You’d be in trouble if you didn’t, love. Do you want me to tell your dad and the lads?”

“Do you think they’ll be OK with it?”

Her soft laugh made George feel safe, the way he’d always done as a kid. “Of course they will. I’ll phone you later, love. And promise me you won’t worry.”

“I promise, mum.” 

“OK?” Danny wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping the concern off his face.

George leaned over and kissed him. “Made me promise not to get any tats. And she said you were good-looking. You’re invited to tea, by the way.”

“Will your dad be OK?”

“Mum says so, and she’s always right.” He ran his hand up Danny’s arm. “What about your mum?”

“She knows I like blokes. It won’t be a problem. I’ll give her a call in a bit.” He wrapped his arms around George and kissed his neck. “What do you fancy doing until we go round to Jonny’s?”

“Can we finish watching Hot Fuzz? Jonny’s bound to quiz me on it.”

George couldn’t remember when he’d last spent such a lazy day. They watched the film, snogged on the sofa and drank tea. Late afternoon, George’s phone rang and his dad’s picture came up on the screen. He sat up, showing the screen to Danny, who scrambled up almost as quickly.

“Hi Dad …”

“Stop panicking, you daft apeth.”

“Who says I was panicking?”

“If he makes you happy, that’s fine. Bloody good fly-half. Gloucester are lucky to have him. Have you had any more hassle from Burgess?”

George hesitated. “Yeah, a bit, but it’s sorted now. Cips helped.”

“Good. Burgess always was a shit. If you need to talk, phone anytime.”

“Thanks, dad. Speak soon.”

As soon as he finished the call, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Joe. _Bet your pillow talk’ll be fun r kid_

George texted back: _Doesn't complain if I fart in bed_

He got a smiley face in return. The text he got from Jacob was much the same.

At half six, they drove over to Jonny’s. Nala hurled herself at them like she’d not seen them for weeks. Jonny did much the same but without shedding hairs and slobbering.

“Looking better, Fordy,” Jonny announced, sounding like a proud mother. “You looked like shit when you arrived.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Sophie laughed and kissed him. “He’s got no tact. But he’s right, George. Is Danny’s spare bed comfier than ours?”

To his horror, George felt a hot blush shoot up his cheeks.

Sophie’s eyes widened slightly but all she did was haul the dog off them and offer drinks.

“Low cal muck coming up!” Jonny headed for the fridge, completely missing the laughter dancing in Danny’s eyes and the red flush on George’s face.

“Er, have you got any orange gin, mate?”

“Fucking hell, Fordy, you’ve only been here two days and Cips has corrupted you already.”

Danny gave up any pretence and started laughing, and after a moment, George joined in. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Jonny stared suspiciously between the two of them. “Am I missing something?”

Sophie patted him on the arm. “You normally are, love, don’t worry about it. I’ll sort the gins out. Yours are lethal.”

“Not my fault if the neighbours can’t handle a drink! And it only happened once!”

“They were pissed before I’d even got the starters out. It’s not meant to be equal parts gin and tonic.”

“Got to be able to taste the stuff …” He shot George and Danny another suspicious look. “OK, which one of you do I need to get in a headlock?”

“No headlocks,” Sophie told him firmly. “The last time you did that we ended up needing a new coffee table.”

George glanced at Danny and received a smile and a nod in return.

“Got something to tell you, mate.”

“Gossip?”

“It will be. I’m gay and Danny and I are going out.”

“Fucking hell, how long?”

“All my life and a day and a half.”

Jonny went quiet while he worked that one out, then a grin spread across his face. “You serious?”

“Yep.” And to prove it, George slipped his arm around Danny’s waist and drew him close for a kiss. It started chaste but didn’t stay that way. When they drew apart, George looked at his friend, hoping for acceptance, but tensed against rejection. Danny’s arm tightened reassuringly around him.

Jonny looked like his eyes were about to cross, then his grin widened. “That was weirdly hot.”

“Jonny!” Sophie thumped him.

“Well, it was.” He muscled in between them and pulled George into a rough hug. “I’ve never had a gay best friend before.” He chucked his other arm around Danny. “Now I’ve got two.”

“Orange gins coming up,” Sophie said, smiling. 

“I’ll stick some fizzy in the fridge. SWAN!”

“Arp,” George said, his arm still around Danny.

For the first time in his life, he finally allowed himself to believe his life was going to be all right.


End file.
